Nearly every welcome bonfire Concordia’s history boasted was one form of disaster or another, Caspian would argue, though he’d be sure to deny his own fault in the explosions. More often than not, his tempers crashed like angered waves and his rage would leave the night a ruin, shooting the absent barrier they’d all been celebrating immediately back upwards, ensuring the island wouldn’t see guests again for another five, twenty, fifty-something years.
He would not be the cause of such commotion this time, he’d swore upon all the powers of the seas themselves — not even as he'd been forced to bite down on his tongue all night, swallowing a tang of metal each time he watched another kingdom’s sprites act amuck. His own hand in its creation those centuries ago be damned, he resented the island’s constitution for daring to forbid him, a being as old as the earth itself, from disciplining the stir-crazy sprites that spent the evening embarrassing their kind before the humans with childish antics.
To quell the storm that brewed in his chest was never easy; even in the days that followed the bonfire, he could feel resentment towards the others bubbling just beneath the surface, daring to explode, daring to ruin his hopes of allowing a few more straggling humans in before he inevitably erupted once more. Decompressing with Ocean in the depths of Aqueus had its therapeutic properties most nights — but this, this was too delicate. She, too, bore the blessing and the curse of the monarch — and a set of moods to match his own. Any missteps even with her would raise the barrier all the same. Politics. It meant the only inhabitants of the island safe to speak freely with in times of tension and attempted self restraint were the lessers. Call it strange and beautiful, that it was one engulfed in flame that so often knew how to calm their waters.
They’d asked Phoenix to join them at Castaway Cove, just as the sun tucked itself away behind the Terran mountains for the evening, the beach lit in twilight by the bioluminescent teal of the cove, with a pit dug out on the shore for their guest to light them a fire, perhaps one that might turn into a dance. Surely, a swim in the cove whilst the fire siren danced on shore would keep their frenzied heart distracted enough to keep from warring with the others; if not, a swig from whatever was in the bottle they’d swiped from Charlie’s earlier that day might. “Thank you for joining me out here. With the excitement beginning to calm, I hoped you might help me at least try to do the same.” Sat in the sand, they poured from an unmarked glass bottle into a pair of glasses, offering one to Phoenix. “I don’t know who made it or what’s in it, but it won’t kill us,” they shrugged with a chuckle, daring to take their first sip. “I thought you and I might indulge in a more private toast tonight. It’s been.. how long, since you’ve met one of your old kind? I imagine it brings.. emotions.”
any doubts laxmi could have about the stranger’s identity dispelled as soon as they opened their mouth. their deep voice distilled authority, she noted, so they must be the leader of these people. or at least someone of importance. in that case, why had they chosen to approach her? surely they must’ve seen her with the passengers earlier, tending to them, and must’ve thought she was their equivalent, someone above the others. well, they were wrong. but they seemed polite and attentive, so she gifted them a smile to match theirs. “i’m laxmi. thank you for your condolences”, the smile disappeared, replaced by an exhausted grin. “it could’ve been much, much worse, but it hasn’t been easy either”, she admitted.
upon their kind offering to answer any questions she may have, laxmi hesitated. there were simply too many strange things to ask about, some of them she didn’t even know how to word. “well—”, she started, but stopped herself mid-sentence to chuckle at caspian’s suspicious face. “oh, they’re safe, i promise! or if they’re poisonous, at least you’ll have time to say goodbye to your beloved ones”, she added, a mischievous tone in her voice.
it wasn’t until caspian had chewed the leaves and offered laxmi a drink that she realized how rude she was being. a flash of terror crossed her expression. “i forgot to say, thank you. your people have been amazing by letting us stay here”, she swept the place with a movement of her arm, where everyone was eating and drinking by the fire. she chose to leave out the part where the islanders had made the plane disappear, partly because she still couldn’t believe that it happened. laxmi felt dizzy again and smiled weakly. “i think i’ll take that water, please.”
it was at that moment when she had a revelation: they had tons of fresh food and beverages on the island, plenty of comforts at the village, which they must get from somewhere else. she knew how it worked; some of her flights had made stopovers to deliver goods in remote places. with excitement, laxmi realized she had just found a way home. “mmh, i was wondering, how do you get these drinks? that didn’t smell like homemade rum to me.”
“Laxmi,” he repeated with a slow nod, while inside he hoped, not for long. He could already envision her — a dancing Brook, a changing Tide, perhaps a calming Bay.. Recruiting a sky-flier to Aqueus was a challenge he’d long lusted after — since he’d first learned that mankind had learned to craft vehicles that flew like the sky sprites did. “I’m sure you’ll soon come to see, it could’ve been much, much worse,” he chuckled. It was almost as if she hadn’t yet caught on.
As she promised him the leaves weren’t fatal, as if his life lay in the hands as something as harmless as an earth sprite’s afterthought, it became increasingly clear. She didn’t yet know that, to his kind, death was but a legend. She didn’t yet know it was her who should think twice about which of the ground’s offerings she chose to eat. She knew nothing. He toyed with the beginnings of a smirk, savoring her blank slate. It had been decades since he’d met one so fresh. “Awfully brave of you,” they chuckled, “eating strange plants off the ground, in a strange place.” Brave, they quite liked. “Trust these leaves more than you trust us, hmm?” They posed it facetiously, but their light laugh masked a hint of truth. If she felt so comfortable with the flora already, they’d make sure to ask a young spriteling or two to keep Florian and Gaia away from her for the night. Just in case.
“You’re all welcome here,” they nodded. “Not all of your kind are meant for this place, but those who are.. They thrive.” It was an honest sentiment. All of Aqueus’s brightest — the Sirens, the Tempests, the Rivers of their kingdom — were once human, lost and confused, like her. They all deserved a chance to prove their worthiness. “We’re proud to grow everything you’ll eat and drink on this island ourselves,” Caspian hummed, feeling no qualms about taking partial credit for the earth sprites’ work — he made it rain, whether Terra wanted it or not. “I’d offer you a tour of the garden or the forest, but I’m afraid it’s not mine to show,” he sighed. “Syrah, over by the bar, would be better suited to answer that question for you. Her hand has likely grown or distilled everything you’ve been offered tonight.”
“Everything,” he continued, “but this.” Caspian may not have had a tour of the Terran gardens to offer, but he was still the master of one thing. “Water, you said, yes?” He steadied himself, taking a moment to lock eyes with her, drawing a deep, slow breath. The revelation of the island’s mysteries, of his people’s mysteries, was often easiest swallowed by a calm mind and an open heart. “What I’m about to show you might startle you,” he warned, voice even, eyes unwavering. “I want you to pay attention, watch closely. Try not to blink. You’ll only confuse yourself more. Are you ready?” They paused a beat, before extending a palm before them. First, a tall glass, made of unmeltable ice, formed in their left hand, fading slowly into existence. With their right, they hovered their fingertips above it, letting crisp water flow from their hand and into the glass. “It’ll be cold to the touch, but trust me,” they said, extending the glass to Laxmi, “you’ve never had fresher.”
WELCOME BONFIRE | the beach | closed for @cloudwxlker
His water sprites rarely spent time out in the waters by the Village, where the masses gathered and splashed; why would they, with a kingdom of private oases of their own? The welcome bonfire posed reason enough as the group of them spent the day readying the beach’s coastline for company, warming the waters and preparing a show of waves doing fountain-like dances. It was a water sprite beneath the surface who heard the splashing of a shark in the waves, the underwater echoes of a desperate human’s cries for help, and the laughter of an alleged sky sprite — Nimbus —followed by the meek intervention of another — Lux.
Most times, it was a move that would have earned the mischievous sprite his respect; playing with life was a sport of his as well, most knew. His oceans were certainly hungry for the bodies Nimbus dared to feed them, but Caspian had meant for his seas to swallow the weak, not the helpless. This batch of humans were particularly precious, each one integral in what the island would come to be; surely, Nimbus could pick on a sprite who’d live to tell the tale, rather than the few who didn’t have a life to spare. Until proven otherwise, each one had the potential to blossom into something greater. Had it been one of his sprites feeding the sharks a human snack, he’d have him banished to the Village for a week for the attempt — but Nimbus wasn’t his sprite. He was Lux’s, and as Caspian’s eyes followed Lux and her unmistakeable laugh throughout the night, his furrow sank each time she circled past a guilty Nimbus and did nothing.
With a harsh nod in his direction, Caspian motioned for the monarch to follow as they walked down the beach, gesturing for Lux to follow. Slow footsteps brought them to the spot their sprite had reported as the scene of the crime, until they stood in place, turning to face her, accusatory. “You know why I brought you here.” It wasn’t a question. “Don’t make me say what happened,” they hummed, voice low, threatening, but steady. He wouldn’t be the one to lose control tonight, he’d sworn to himself — but that was before Lux had showed up. Odds now remained stacked against him. “Why have you not made an example out of him?”
laxmi had had enough chaos to last a lifetime during the last twenty-four hours. when a ship crashed on the shore just a few hours after her plane did, she thought it couldn’t get stranger. she had assumed it was a deserted island, but then the islanders appeared while she was still trying to make some sense of what had happened. everything smelled of smoke and salt, and nothing could be more appealing than a soft bed.
but no, they had announced a bonfire to welcome those who had landed during the day. welcome us to what? what is this place? where am i? some part of her rational brain was thinking maybe she had passed out or died, and this was all a product of her imagination. how else could she explain what she’d seen?
the only certain thing was that she didn’t trust them. the islanders made laxmi’s hair stand on end, and she felt cold even though the air was warm and fragrant —no trace of the stink of smoke, somehow. it was just a stupid feeling, probably just the adrenaline still running through her veins, yet she could not let herself appear scared. there were more survivors from her flight, some of them mere children, whom she needed to show strength for.
but she wasn’t about to simply accept that they were friendly. laxmi sat by the fire and refused every plate or drink she was offered, deciding to chew some leaves she’d found harmless instead. when she heard someone sit next to her, her eyes didn’t move away from the bonfire, scared that it might be one of the strange islanders. ‘oh, don’t be pathetic, they’re not going to eat you… or maybe they are?’ gathering up all her courage, she gulped loudly and extended her hand, full of leaves, at the stranger. “want one? they taste like mint.”
Even the most devastating storms come to an end. They woke that morning with waters quelled and peace amongst the four kingdoms restored, in no small part because of their own calming. The island’s magic soon struck down a plane, followed shortly by a boat — the latter of which particularly roused him, as any sea-farers naturally belonged to him. The sky-fliers were a different story. Concordia had only seen them once before, and none chose Aqueus — though he’d reason none of them had been worthy of it anyway.
The humans, lost and confused, needed calm; it made the transition easier, when they could be eased into their new truth. It meant Caspian drawing a deep breath before stepping into the Village for the bonfire, promising himself a night of best behavior and restraint. Swinging past Charlie to pick up his usual cocktail, he trailed towards the bonfire. At some point, he’d emerge from the oceans and announce himself in all his glory to his hopeful new subjects — but first, he’d approach with ease, a gentle wave on the shore before the hurricane hits.
He first spotted her clothing — some sort of crew’s garb, surely signaling her importance amongst the sky-fliers. If they trusted her, she certainly merited a hello. Sitting himself next to her by the fire, he offered a half-smile, widening to a half-chuckle as she extended a handful of leaves. “You know, I’ve lived here forever, and I’ve never thought to give those a try,” he breathed, reaching a hand of his own and snatching a pair of the leaves. He paused. “Condolences about your plane,” he began, feeling the slightest tickle of pride as he remembered the word for plane, having only ever seen one other. “Caspian,” he introduced with a nod. “I’m sure you’re confused. Ask me anything — anything.”
He allowed her a moment, eyes shifting back down towards the leaves in his palm, narrowed with slight suspicion. With a shrug, he slipped them into his mouth, chewing for a moment before washing them down with what remained of his Dark ‘n’ Stormy. “You know, with one of these, they really aren’t that bad,” he suggested, nodding down towards his empty glass. “I can’t get you one? Not even some water?”
They weren’t, and then, they were. Being, in its most rudimentary sense, is perhaps the first sensation they can remember tingling through their newly minted hands and feet. The second was a rumbling. It came from within, shook them with the power of the seven seas. It told them who they were, and they were water, but they were more than that, too. They were Caspian. They were water’s vengeance, water’s way of taking life the way it sustains it. They were the storms that would come to tear down man’s strongest ships, the wrath of a thrashing typhoon, dark ocean depths that drown and swallow whole. They were made to roar, with passion and ferocity. To devour.
If they had a heart, it beat to destroy — a cruel trick on the universe’s part, as they knew in their bones that their kind was put here to create, to prime the earth’s canvas for the lessers that would soon inhabit it. Create, they would, but anything born from them would inherit their thirst for power. Each ocean, each waterfall, each storming sea they conjured from within, they built in their image — both wondrous and monstrous, greedy and hungry, their surfaces violently raging while the mysteries of their depths remained cloaked in darkness.
Though different in nearly every way beings could be, the eight of them shared what he knew to be most important — magic. Power. It built an unspoken covenant between the eight of them, divided them from the humans that would soon arrive. He supposed their work was, well, fine, for what it was. He paid little mind to anything crafted above the surface, almost perplexed as to why any of the others would. Surely, humankind didn’t deserve that much care; there was no way they’d ever see it all in their short lives, never mind comprehend it with their small minds. Yes, Caspian created, but not for them — for himself, and for Ocean, for it was the two of them who’d be hidden together in the depths for eternity. He’d make those depths unfathomable — trenches no air-breather could survive, an unknowable mystery humankind would have to work for generations to even begin to understand, a private solace for he and the only equal the world had given him.
As time went on, and the ocean floor became a home he knew by heart, he was proven right. The only traces of humanity that ever found him were their ships and trinkets that his oceans had swallowed whole. Just as they’d been born to.
They had to be dragged to the surface; they never would’ve chosen to emerge. Of all the alleged disasters that could’ve summoned their kind back home, cleaning up the humans’ mess was surely the most insulting. The solution seemed obvious, did it not? Mankind had proven they couldn’t be trusted with their earth. Revoke their privileges. It was a wonder the world had been given to them at all, Caspian reasoned; the sprites should’ve had half a mind to keep it for themselves, as immaculately as they’d intended. It wasn’t too late to reclaim it.
History had yet to force them to learn the meaning of compromise, but they received a swift lesson. The constitution they agreed to seemed a reasonable fix, for the time being. To create a new water sprite, reflecting his and Ocean’s image, did sing a siren’s song to his thunderous pride. And, they surely had no interest in wasting a flicker of their time — no matter if it was infinite — on returning to the human world and cleaning their mess. That was a burden they could delegate to new, eager sprites, leaving him on the island to rule. A king wasn’t meant to hide in solitude, he was meant to command. They sprites were what the humans would call gods; it was time to live like it.
He’d haughtily tricked himself into believing the barrier would be a failsafe, not a way of life. He’d truly believed himself mighty enough to manage the tempers of all eight of them, that Concordia’s doors would remain open with rare exceptions. How fitting, then, that his own roaring outbursts would be responsible for so many of their lockdowns. The feuds began near immediately, as Caspian made the arrogant case that a ship filled with sea-faring people had already answered water’s call — thus, they all belonged in Aqueus, with him. Others disagreed. For decades.
Decades became a century, and they didn’t even know what they were fighting about anymore. They’d been hidden behind that barrier for all save a handful of days. To cage themself had never been the plan. What had begun as a faint annoyance grew into a bitter resentment towards that dome. Even when they calmed themself for long enough to allow it to fall, they watched from their tethered throne as others came and went, and they remained. The king of the seas, landlocked.
They were done sleeping, and they tried to wake the others, too. They shouted from the mountains, the trenches, and the heavens that they, the Monarchs, the gods, were fools to keep themselves shackled. They should be free, out in the world they’d created, serving no one but themselves. In fact, perhaps it was even time for humankind to repay them.
For sixty years they wasted their breath, raging in advocacy of tearing the barrier down for good and freeing the Monarchs from their island prison — and after sixty years, they accepted that they’d never convince them all to abandon the constitution and start anew. If they wanted permanent change, it wouldn’t be achieved with a vote. It would have to be taken, by force.
They could surrender this battle, to better prepare for war. Crusade set aside, for now, and apologies given, they made their amends with the others. As they let go of their frustrations, the barrier fell, and they smile as two new arrivals are pulled towards the island. Aqueus needs strength, numbers, and they’ll only achieve that with a steady stream of humans to christen. They welcome new blood, and in hopes to let more arrive before the barrier inevitably seals them away once more, they do all they can to keep the peace, to keep their calm. The biggest storm of all is yet to come.
headcanons
Caspian can navigate underwater, all around the globe, with absolute ease. Probably with his eyes closed, too — the feel of the currents would be enough to help him get anywhere he needs to be. On land, though, that’s a whole other story. He cares so little about the surface that he’s never bothered to learn land geography, and thus, he gets lost absolutely anywhere above-ground and has a terrible sense of direction.
potential connections
feuding monarchs: Caspian is definitely one of the more temperamental Monarchs who’s usually feuding with someone, so I’m sure he’s got some fellow rulers he regularly butts heads with!
the one(s) that got away: Sprites from other kingdoms that he really tried to recruit as water sprites, but ultimately failed to do so. reeeejected, rejected, cas just got rejected, r-e, j-e, c-t-e-d rejected ))))):
human fixations: Cas is definitely trying to recruit numbers for the water kingdom, so I’m sure he’s showing off and laying it on thick, trying to impress the humans he thinks are promising.
siren song: So, the actual siren song does nothing to him, but his storm is absolutely the kind that can be quelled with charm, flattery, flirtation, etc.... I’d love to see someone who’s figured this out, and manipulates him.
stormy affairs: As angry as he can be, he loves just as passionately, too. He’s definitely been known to get caught in tempestuous affairs that burn hot and fast, so bring on the exes, the on-again-off-again, what have you. He’s a big ball of feelings.
tear-it-down recruits: On the low, Caspian’s trying to sus out who might stand behind him in his cause to try to abolish the barrier — monarchs and sprites alike, from all kingdoms!
